I'll make a sammich outta you (no_tell_motel) wrote in deathtogrammar,
I'll make a sammich outta you
no_tell_motel
deathtogrammar

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yep another copy paste... post haste

I first met Peter Groth in the smoke filled, rundown, dishrag of a bar called The Florescent in downtown washington dc... he had a loosly rolled cigarette hanging from his lips and another one perched in his ear. he was drunk and soapboxing about the government, but not like your average run of the mill "the gov'ment is why i drink" soapboxing drunk... he was actually knowedgable on the subject. he caught my ear because i was studying law at the time (now i study the bars and walls of my prison cell)...

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Peter went to yale and was on his way to becoming quite the politician, but he became disgusted, as do half of those interested in politics, he thought he could make a difference, but "politicians are just puppets for corperations nowadays." said peter. he immeadiatly followed it up with the reason why. "the corporations run the government because they finance everyone's campaigns, and when the time comes the politicians have to pay those corporations back. There are so many of them financing the senators and president and everybody else that the returned favors are endless. Thus our country, is ran by corporations." after saying this, the other drunks had grown weary of his political crap and started to throw empty beer bottles at him. so i offered him a ride home...

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we climbed into my dad's old saab and i asked him, "where to?" he jokingly said "to the batcave." then passed out. i was feeling nice and laid him down on my couch for the night...

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the next morning i was awakened by peter screaming "where the fuck am i!"
i came into the livingroom and peter was naked and had a look of terror in his eyes, the loosely rolled cigarette from his ear had came unrolled and there was tobacco all over his face and in his curly mop of hair. i calmed him down, got him dressed and explained while i made some coffee. (i dont drink it but all my friends do so i have a coffee maker) he started to remember the night and then suddenly had an epiphany right there in my dinette. he had to go home and i had to go with him...

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we drove to his house and he ran inside after a quick hand motion that said "come in, Now!" he ran up the stairs of his loft and went to his computer. he told me "watch the door and if anyone knocks, dont answer it."
then he preceded to start wiping all the files off of his hard drive, i didnt see much but the names sounded totally important, they looked like government classified information. (because they were) one in perticular caugh my eye. it was called project cromlech, which i later found out was a psychiatric drug therapy program for the special forces in 1996 that killed all of its subjects. about ten seconds too early there was a knowck on the door, i rememberd not to answer it, but he told me "Stall them!" so i started down stairs and when i came to the bottom, the door crashed to the floor, the small glass window in it shattered into a million pieces and the next thing i knew i was in hand-cuffs, the agents ran upstairs, the first fell back down with a hole from a colt .45 in his forehead. there were three more gunshots. half an hour later, from the back of a squad car, i saw peter come out of his house for the last time, in a body bag...

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which leads us here, to this federal prison. i am up for my appeal next week, but i dont think i will go though, there is no use, i am a terrorist.
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